


Sleep Like a Soldier Without Breath

by midnightprelude



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cadash is a sweetheart, Dorian doesn't know what to do, M/M, Pre-Relationship, post-Redcliffe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26313295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightprelude/pseuds/midnightprelude
Summary: Dorian is haunted by visions of Redcliffe castle and Cadash simply won't have it.
Relationships: Male Cadash/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 12
Kudos: 22
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	Sleep Like a Soldier Without Breath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inquisitor_tohru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/gifts).



> I hope you don't mind me borrowing your Edric for this little ficlet! I hope I captured him well. He seems like a lovely, funny fellow. <3

Bloody frigid, the southern lands were. Covered with _snow_ and _ice_ and _hail_ , dark clouds looming overhead like a canopy, blocking out the sunlight. They trudged back towards the tiny village with their veritable caravan of Inquisition soldiers and mages that had, up until recently, spent their entire lives locked in towers. 

Locked in towers under cold, unforgiving skies. 

Dorian shivered again and tugged his cloak tighter about his shoulders. 

It was good to be away from that dreadful castle with its statues of dogs and tapestries of eagles. Even in this timeline, his former mentor foiled, he could still hear the dreadful cacophony of all of that lyrium. Discordant tunes layered one upon another until the sound was so positively horrendous that he could scarcely think. Scarcely breathe. 

His new colleagues infected with the stuff, like a plague. Cassandra’s eyes glowing, her voice two-toned. Sera twitchy with anxiety, jumping at shadows. Leliana’s flesh nearly rotting from her bones. 

And Felix. 

Felix, the shell of the man who had once slipped Dorian pastries covered with cinnamon, perching on the bay window of his study, laughing in the sunshine. Whispering out of his father’s earshot about the trouble he wanted to get up to. Sneaking out after he was supposed to be asleep, donning a mask and attending a ball with himself and Maevaris Tilani at the Orlesian embassy. Gereon had tried to keep his only son from the machinations of the Senate, but Felix was determined, so eager to see the world that his family had deemed too dangerous.

See it he had, Dorian supposed, sighing, scrubbing a hand across his face. 

Felix had met more members of the Magisterium once Gereon had joined the Venatori than he’d ever had the chance to encounter when they lived in Asariel. 

Simpler times. When the worst they could expect to encounter was a finger wagging from Livia or Gereon, perhaps a lecture on propriety or duty or-

There was a quiet rustle through the brush and into the clearing that Dorian had found to clear his thoughts. Moonlight spilled through the trees, dappling the frost-covered ground below, making the shards on browning blades of grass gleam like daggers. 

A brown head of hair popped out between shoulder high brambles, eyebrows winging towards his hairline. Eyes like piercing emeralds. An inked tattoo roughly in the shape of an ‘S’ on his cheek. 

“Herald,” Dorian nodded, bowing his head slightly at Cadash’s approach. 

“Dorian,” he shook his head, lips curved into a playful smirk. “How many times have I told you that it’s ‘Edric’. We trampled through time and space together just two days ago; you can’t have forgotten that already!”

“Would that I could,” Dorian mumbled, trying to adopt a stance of casual nonchalance, backing up against a tree only to realize it was wet and covered with sticky sap. “I’d certainly sleep better.”

“Is that why you’re out here by yourself in the middle of the night? I took over the watch from Sera and she said you’d wandered away.”

“It’s none of her business,” Dorian huffed, turning away, looking towards the dim light of the distant campfires. 

“It _is_ mine though,” Cadash crossed through the clearing towards him, wearing a frown. “You saved my ass back there, more than once. I would help you if I could. It’s the least I can do.”

“I hardly expect it’s something you can help with,” Dorian snapped and immediately softened. What they’d seen in that Blighted castle wasn’t _his_ fault. If anything, it had been Dorian’s. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “That was unbecoming. I’ve been a bit touchy ever since…”

“Yeah,” Cadash ran a hand through his hair, patting Dorian on the back. A firm, warm, welcoming touch. How did the man always seem to put those around him at ease? Seemingly without even meaning to. It was a gift, of a very unique variety, especially during such tumultuous times. “I should expect so. Will you tell me what’s wrong, though, or should I start guessing?”

“Hmph,” Dorian raised a brow. “Let me hear what you’ve got in that mind of yours.”

“Well…” the dwarven man thumbed his chin, giving him a wry grin. Dorian’s cheeks felt suddenly warm, pinned by that mossy-green gaze. “Wet socks. That always makes me irritable.”

“I’ve certainly got those,” Dorian concurred, tilting his head, “try again?”

“Void and Deep. I thought that’d be it for a certainty!” the man laughed, filling the trees with the steady ringing of baritone bellsong. “Let’s see… Stepped in nug shite? Cass got a big wad of it on those shiny boots of hers earlier. You should’ve seen her face! Like she’d drunk a gallon of sour milk.”

“Luckily not,” Dorian said, feeling the corners of his lips curving upwards. How? How did he manage to do that? To waltz through the forest and stand before him after everything they’d seen and-

“I’m stumped then,” Cadash squinted at him, frowning ever so slightly. “No nug shite, no wet socks. Must be something serious then.” He sighed, running a hand through this short beard, the thick dusting of freckles on his neck and jaw visible even in the low light. “Wouldn’t have to do with that castle, would it?”

“There we are,” Dorian murmured, voice sounding more strangled than he’d hoped. “You’ve landed upon it.”

“Ah,” he said, a quiet exhalation in the soft breeze. “I was afraid of that. Sort of puts everything into perspective, you know? And that perspective’s a heavy weight. I’m sorry, Dorian. For your mentor and your friend and that you had to see all of that Void-blasted future.”

“You did too,” Dorian peered at him, dressed in simple leathers and wool, carrying a full quiver and a beautifully carved bow. “You wouldn’t have needed to, had I tried harder to convince Alexius to--”

“No,” Cadash held up a hand, shaking his head. “Don’t go blaming yourself for things out of your control, eh? There’s enough of that going around as it is. Now, why are you up and about at midnight? We stopped giving you watches ages ago after you-”

“‘Whinged for a day and a half about the sorry state of my extremities’. That’s what you called it, no?”

“Yeah, that.” Cadash smiled, with a damned smirk that pinned him in place as surely as his sap-covered back. “Your extremities don’t seem to be in a sorry state at the moment.”

“I beg your pardon?” Dorian chuckled, quirking a brow. Was that- It- That was an obvious flirt. _Obvious_. Yet, from the Herald himself? Madness. “I must’ve misheard.”

“I’m just saying, you’re out and about in the cold.” A quick flicker of _something_ glanced across the man’s expression, his smile vanishing for a breath before returning in full force again. “There must be something wrong.”

“Nightmares,” Dorian admitted. “I haven’t slept well since we returned. Tossing and turning in my sleep; I keep running through that castle, alone, stumbling, but when I go to face Alexius, it’s my own face under that hideous cowl.”

“Couldn’t see you in red,” Cadash shrugged, laughing outright. “And that hood is dastardly. Almost comical.”

“It is, Maker’s breath.”

“No one has ever called me fashionable, but even I could tell you that.”

“It’s not me who you should tell. The next time we’re surrounded by a pack of Venatori, you should shout wardrobe advice to them.”

“Red isn’t a bad thing, honestly. Very easy to hit. I’m glad they’re not in green.”

“That’s a fair point. In that case, perhaps we tell them to go even more ostentatious.”

“Perhaps,” Cadash looked up at him, brow knitted with concern. It was strangely sweet, really. “Nightmares, you said? What’s that like?”

“Oh,” Dorian murmured, thumbing his chin. “I suppose you wouldn’t be familiar.”

“Can you not tell that you’re dreaming?” 

“Not always,” Dorian sighed, frowning. “They can often be very realistic, dreams. And even when they’re not, even when situations are so obviously off from reality, you sometimes forget to ask yourself whether you could possibly be sleeping. So if you’re running from a wolf in a nightmare, it’ll often feel like you’ve just run miles when you open your eyes. It’s unsettling; I’ve been reliving much of the same experience we had at Redcliffe, but in my nightmares, you aren’t there.”

“You’re in Redcliffe, alone?” Cadash tilted his head. “Well, perhaps I’ve got a solution for that.”

“Oh? Plan on warding my dreams, do you?” Sweet. Certainly sweet, the way the Herald smiled, the way he tried to make Dorian laugh, even when the world threatened to crumble to pieces. Cadash did it with everyone, he tried to remind himself. There was nothing special about his attention. He was just a generous person. A rare heart. “Do tell.”

“My watch ends in an hour, then why don’t I join you? Can’t dream about me not being there if I’m literally right next to you.”

“ _Join_ -” Dorian stammered, eyes wide, heart hammering in his chest. “That’s-” He shook his head, closing his eyes for a long beat. “That’s not how dreams work.”

“Have you tried it?”

“Tried _what_ , per se?”

“Sleeping with someone,” Cadash laughed, full throated and bright. “I meant _sleeping_ , as in actually sleeping, not _sleeping_ , obviously.”

“Obviously,” Dorian gaped at him, aghast. 

“Well, have you?”

“Have I _slept_ with someone?”

“Yeah, slept with someone. As in slept. With someone.”

“Not when I can avoid it,” Dorian grimaced. He wanted to melt into the earth. Would that it could open and swallow him whole. “ _Vishante kaffas_.”

“Might as well try. It wouldn’t hurt, would it?” That bloody, gentle curve of his lips that threatened to immolate Dorian where he stood. Did Cadash not recognize what he was doing to him? Not just- The caring was one thing, but that level of intimacy? Such admissions did not come without their costs; he’d learned that early enough.

“I-” 

“Yes?”

Eyes that made him feel like he could float off the ground. That bloody, beautiful, brilliant smile. The Blighted Herald of Andraste was looking at him like he was the most fascinating, puzzling creature he’d ever seen. And Dorian would admit, he _was_ a sight to see. But this? This? 

“I shall see you in an hour, then,” Dorian mumbled, cheeks burning as the words spilled from his lips like wine from a decanter. He couldn’t look at Cadash, had to get away, had to-

Warm, wide, weathered hands clutched his own, squeezing gently before tugging him back into the moonlight. 

“I wish I could take it away, Dorian,” Cadash murmured, gazing at him intently, emeralds piercing him to his core, making him want to cry out in jubilation. “But for what it’s worth, I’m damned glad that since I had to go to the Void and back, it was you who stood beside me.”

“Herald,” Dorian sighed weakly, feeling as though his wish to melt to the ground might be coming true, if the state of his knees were any indication. 

“It’s Edric,” Cadash said, with that grin that made anything seem possible as he wrapped his arms around Dorian’s waist. “How many times must I tell you?”

“At least the once more,” Dorian exhaled, his pulse thrumming an uneven staccato in his ears. He watched Cadash for a moment, an hour, until the corners of Dorian’s lips curled to match the Herald’s. And then, because he couldn’t wait another moment, he bent his neck down to meet the lips of the man who loved with every heartbeat, laughed with every breath, and by the Maker’s light, was meant to save them all.


End file.
